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The golden sunlight bathed the ancient city of Salbadu, where early-rising suppliers hurried their horse-drawn carts through the old laneways. Housewives busied themselves with preparing breakfast, while long queues formed in front of the bakeries. The scent of food and the vendors' cries mingled together, injecting vitality into the city that had just awakened.
It was yet another mundane day, commencing with the steady morning concerto, as always. Only the drill commands coming from the direction of the barracks, the patrolling pairs and trios on the streets, and the ever-present long flags in black, white, and red—along with the golden fleur-de-lis banners—reminded the residents and passersby at all times: this city had been conquered, and now the Charlemagne people were its masters.
